Last night Debbie texted, “watch Rebel on hulu. It’s you.” I thought it would be a comedy but nope, it was about a loud, aggressive, in your face activist, whose kids never wanted to be activists, but were forced into it by their mom. Sigh.
Okay, so I dragged my daughter on buses and planes, took her everywhere, to march, demonstrate, defend clinics, animals, and all the rest.
We didn’t do the mother daughter thing, the way a lot of other mother’s and daughter’s did. My daughter was handing out leaflets, picketing Northwestern’s Animal Labs, furriers, marching in Washington, Springfield, going to International Feminist Conventions, and meetings, working for the ERA, doing voter registration and pretty much everything else, including letter writing, phone calls, coming to most of my lectures, and boycotting. That was her childhood.
I adore her. She’s an amazing, professional, intelligent, strong, funny, LOYAL, woman, who is much nicer than I am, or ever could be. I’m aggressive. She doesn’t go for someone’s throat, until she’s tried other ways. I give whatever it is about three minutes, and then I’m finished being nice. So, when she said the character Rebel,on the program, and I were alike, she wasn’t kidding. She said she kept saying, “There’s my mom,” while she was watching the program. I have to ask her if that was a good, or bad thing. Mmmm, probably bad, right?
My daughter’s like a warm summer breeze and I’m more like a nasty tornado, but we work amazingly well together. We have each other’s back…always. I think she’s so perfect because she’s like her father. He was perfect too. Our son, well, he was more like me. Enough said.
Anyway, her nickname for me is, The Shredder. I tell her I’m not that bad. She tells me that I am. We can both be right…or wrong.
We are who we are.